


How They Finally Got Together...

by DaringlyDomestic



Series: Domestic Angsty Fluffy One-Shots [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:29:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5936860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaringlyDomestic/pseuds/DaringlyDomestic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What the title says..</p>
            </blockquote>





	How They Finally Got Together...

Mary left a few minutes ago. John had kissed her goodbye as she bundled herself into her coat. It's early February and the snow still lays heavily on the ground. "I'll probably be a bit late, dear," she had said. "Why don't you phone Greg? Maybe go for a drink?" John, who had been looking forward to an empty house and the prospect of a bubble bath just sighed. "I don't know, Mary. I think Greg's got a big case going." Mary gave John that  **look** , and John had given in. "Alright, I'll give him a call! Now go. Enjoy your book club." Giving her husband one last pec on the cheek, Mary had whirled out the door with a smile on her face. With an audible groan, John picks up his mobile and presses "2." He's only ever really had two numbers of any consequence and they are both on speed dial. He lets the line ring out eight or nine times before giving up. He ends the call and sends Greg a quick text.  _Greg, it's John. Just wondered if you fancied a pint. I'm sure you're busy. We'll catch up another time._ Satisfied, John sets the mobile on the table and heads excitedly for the bathroom. He only manages to take a few steps before his mobile *pings.*

 _This is not how the evening is supposed to go_ , John thinks as he strides back across the room. Picking up the phone, he sees that Greg already texted him back. Curious, John clicks the message.  _John! Good to hear from you mate. Sorry, I'm at a crime scene, so we'll have to meet up another time._ John is not surprised and frankly a little relieved that Lestrade can't make it tonight. He really had been planning a relaxing night in for himself. *ping!* Now, John is a little annoyed. It feels like the universe is conspiring against him, but he checks the incoming text.  _Why don't you ask Sherlock?_ Interested, John replies,  _Why? He's not really the type to go for a pint._ Greg's reply arrives moments later.  _He could use the company. I just had to kick him off another crime scene._ John grimaces. He knows why Greg kicked him out. Sherlock's been back on the drugs again, but John doesn't know what to do. How can he help? He tried talking to Sherlock, but his opinion doesn't hold any weight with the detective anymore. Honestly, it's almost as if he never existed. As if their life at Baker Street, together, was a dream.  _I'll ask...but I'm not holding my breath,_ John types out.  _Good_ , is the only response. 

With more than a little trepidation, John opens a new text message.  _Sherlock, fancy a drink?_ John rereads the message.  **Oh my god. It sounds like I'm asking him out. I haven't seen him in so long, I don't know how to do this anymore. He doesn't want to go for a drink. Especially not with me. He's been avoiding me. I got married. I got boring. Too boring for the brilliant Sherlock Holmes.** John erases the entire message and sends just one word,  _Drink?_ Surprisingly, Sherlock responds almost instantly. He must not have a case.  _There's an excellent little karaoke bar in Soho that is open late. Meet there around 9pm? John is completely shocked._ **Sherlock _wants_  ** **to get a drink? At a karaoke bar? With me? Sherlock knows about karaoke bars? Maybe, he does have a case.** John looks at the clock. It's already 8:20pm. _See you then,_ John replies and then hurries to change into something suitable for a night out. Who is he kidding? He doesn't own anything like that. He chooses his familiar dark jeans, button-up, and hunting jacket. Nothing fancy, but at least John feels like himself in it. 

Twenty minutes later, John finds himself bouncing nervously in the back of a cab. Why had he agreed to this again? He doesn't even like karaoke, and he definitely doesn't sing.  **Oh no. If this is for a case, Sherlock is definitely going to make him sing.** Well, there's nothing for it now. He knows why he agreed to this. Really, he does. He always does whatever Sherlock asks. He will get up on that stage and sing if Sherlock asks him. As sure as he got in a cab, drove across London, chased a murderer, and shot a cabbie for Sherlock the night they met. Just because Sherlock had asked. He never can deny that man anything. 

A few minutes later, the cab pulls up in front of a small bar with a line that wraps around the block. Looking at the crowd, John feels incredibly old and very underdressed. He pays the cabbie and steps onto the well-lit sidewalk. His eyes scan the crowd looking for the familiar Belstaff and blue scarf. He is looking so intently that he almost doesn't notice the beautiful young man in the tight black jeans and white oxford shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. As John's eyes rove upward to the man's face, he is shocked to realize it's Sherlock. The mass of dark curls and unbelievably gorgeous eyes are a dead give-away. John blushes and hurries over to where Sherlock is standing near the door. "Um, Sherlock. I think we had better get in line if we want to get in this place at all tonight." Sherlock rolls his eyes and turns to the doorman. Instantly, he transforms. His posture loosens and he leans into the doorman as he whispers. He runs his hand down the man's chest and John's insides burn. He hides his shaking fist in the pocket of his jacket. The doorman smiles at Sherlock and gestures them through. 

Once they find a table John turns on Sherlock. "What the bloody hell was that all about?" Sherlock looks surprised. "Honestly, John. It was just harmless flirting. We needed to get into the club and now we're in. Problem?" John just shakes his head. He is still too angry to form words. Angry that Sherlock was flirting with the doorman, angry that Sherlock touched the doorman, angry that he doesn't have permission to be angry about any of it. He is married. He has a wife, damn it! Sherlock looks away when it becomes clear that John's short-lived tirade is over. He seems to spot a party a few tables away. His eyes stop scanning and fixes on them momentarily. John would have missed it if he hadn't been paying such close attention. The woman screeching along to Tina Turner finishes her song and there is a polite smattering of applause. Sherlock grins wickedly at John and leaves the table. John watches him head toward the front of the club and speak with a woman holding a binder. He reads the pages over her shoulder and she giggles. What is it with everyone and their obsession with Sherlock Holmes tonight, John wonders. Normally, John is one of the few people who can stand him, but he can't seem to get a minute alone with the mad man right now. John's thoughts are interrupted as the woman nods and Sherlock bounds onstage. A hum of appreciation buzzes through the room and John suppresses the urge to throttle each and every person eyeing up Sherlock. He is beautiful, certainly, but he is so much more than that.

Sherlock's deep baritone echoes loudly as he begins to speak much too close to the microphone. "Hi everyone...sorry! Sorry! I was a little too close. That's better. Anyway...this is a song I've listened to quite a bit. It always helps me when when I feel alone. Hope you enjoy it." Sherlock takes another step back from the microphone as the song begins to play. John stares transfixed as Sherlock starts singing. Sherlock can _sing._  How had he not known that?   

_I'm only one call away_  
_I'll be there to save the day_  
_Superman got nothing on me_  
_I'm only one call away_

_Call me, baby, if you need a friend_  
_I just wanna give you love_  
_Come on, come on, come on_  
_Reaching out to you, so take a chance_

_No matter where you go_  
_You know you're not alone_

_I'm only one call away_  
_I'll be there to save the day_  
_Superman got nothing on me_  
_I'm only one call away_

_Come along with me and don't be scared_  
_I just wanna set you free_  
_Come on, come on, come on_  
_You and me can make it anywhere_  
_For now, we can stay here for a while, ay_  
_'Cause you know, I just wanna see you smile_

_No matter where you go_  
_You know you're not alone_

_I'm only one call away_  
_I'll be there to save the day_  
_Superman got nothing on me_  
_I'm only one call away_

_And when you're weak I'll be strong_  
_I'm gonna keep holding on_  
_Now don't you worry, it won't be long, Darling_  
_And when you feel like hope is gone_  
_Just run into my arms_

_I'm only one call away_  
_I'll be there to save the day_  
_Superman got nothing on me_  
_I'm only one, I'm only one call away_  
_I'll be there to save the day_  
_Superman got nothing on me_  
_I'm only one call away_

The room breaks out in wild applause as Sherlock finishes. John is still staring and Sherlock is determinedly not looking at him. He inclines his head and rushes off the stage. When he returns to the table, he sits with a rigid back. Clearly waiting for the inevitable questions. John doesn't ask them, and after a few more songs, Sherlock relaxes. Eventually, John leans over and whispers, "What are we doing here, Sherlock. Seriously, what? Is it for a case?" Sherlock looks back at the table he had noticed earlier but doesn't respond. John starts to forget about the supposed case as he listens to the singers. Three beers in, he starts to sway to the music. Five beers in, he is tapping his foot. Seven beers in, he gets up. He walks across the room and speaks with the woman he saw Sherlock talking to earlier. She lets him look at the binder of music, and he is immediately dismayed. This music is all current, _very_ current. He doesn't recognize a single song. Wait! That one. It's perfect...and he knows the words. He thanks the woman as she adds his name to the list. There is only one singer in front of him. He waits by the stage throughout the whole performance. He can't risk going back to the table. He can feel Sherlock's piercing gaze all the way across the room. He knows he would cave immediately if he was in close proximity to his friend. The man finishes his country western serenade and bows. John finds himself onstage before he even thinks about moving his feet. He stares out at the crowd. He clears his throat. "This is for a friend. I was so lost and I owe you so much." The music starts and John cannot look away from Sherlock. The crowd fades away as his sight narrows in on those ethereal eyes staring at him.

_Everybody loves the things you do_  
_From the way you talk to the way you move_  
_Everybody here is watching you_  
_'Cause you feel like home_  
_You're like a dream come true_

_But if by chance you're here alone_  
_Can I have a moment before I go?_  
_'Cause I've been by myself all night long_  
_Hoping you're someone I used to know_

_You look like a movie_  
_You sound like a song_  
_My God, this reminds me_  
_Of when we were young_

_Let me photograph you in this light_  
_In case it is the last time_  
_That we might be exactly like we were_  
_Before we realized_  
_We were sad of getting old_  
_It made us restless_  
_It was just like a movie_  
_It was just like a song_

_I was so scared to face my fears_  
_Nobody told me that you'd be here_  
_And I swear you moved overseas_  
_That's what you said, when you left me_

John's voice breaks but he clears his throat and carries on.

_You still look like a movie_  
_You still sound like a song_  
_My God, this reminds me_  
_Of when we were young_

_Let me photograph you in this light_  
_In case it is the last time_  
_That we might be exactly like we were_  
_Before we realized_  
_We were sad of getting old_  
_It made us restless_  
_It was just like a movie_  
_It was just like a song_

_When we were young_ [4x]

_It's hard to admit that_  
_Everything just takes me back_  
_To when you were there_  
_To when you were there_  
_And a part of me keeps holding on_  
_Just in case it hasn't gone_  
_I guess I still care_  
_Do you still care?_

_It was just like a movie_  
_It was just like a song_  
_My God, this reminds me_  
_Of when we were young_

_When we were young [4x]_

_Let me photograph you in this light_  
_In case it is the last time_  
_That we might be exactly like we were_  
_Before we realized_  
_We were sad of getting old_  
_It made us restless_  
_Oh I'm so mad I'm getting old_  
_It makes me reckless_  
_It was just like a movie_  
_It was just like a song_  
_When we were young_

When John finishes, the entire club is silent. He sniffles and swipes at his eyes. Sherlock is still staring and suddenly John can't breath. What has he done? Panicked, John runs for the door. The cold February wind hits him like a physical blow and he barely makes it to the alley. He leans with his back pressed tight to the brick wall and hyperventilates. **Why? Why did he do that? Now, he has definitely ruined everything. He and Sherlock had barely been speaking as it was. Sherlock will never call him again now. Stupid, stupid! Sherlock had made it perfectly clear that he wasn't interested in relationships. But for a moment while Sherlock was singing it had seemed like maybe he was...**

 At that moment, Sherlock comes barreling around the corner and almost collides with John. He stops short and takes in the scene. "John, are you alright?" he asks. His eyes are manic and his body is humming with energy. John wants to reach out and grab those arms, pull Sherlock's hard warm body into his, and kiss those indecently full lips. John's tongue shoots out to lick his own lips.  **Jesus, he needs to get himself under control.** "Fine, yeah. Good," he manages. Sherlock looks at him for a few more moments. Then, his face relaxes into something less frantic. He looks pleased and eager and a little...nervous? John can't really tell at the moment. "John," he whispers and it sounds like a question and an admission and a prayer all in one. It makes John's head spin and his knees weak. John reaches for Sherlock's arms this time to keep himself from collapsing onto the pavement. He desperately searches Sherlock's face. He must be mistaken. Surely, Sherlock is not saying what John thinks he is saying. He must be misreading the situation. But certainty and jubilation are rolling off of Sherlock in waves and suddenly the three feet of space between them is too much. Sherlock needs to be closer. Much, much closer. John pulls him in as one hand twists up into Sherlock's curls and John brings his mouth gently against Sherlock's. Sherlock's hands move to grip John's hips but then they falter. Sherlock's lips are also motionless under John's. "Oh god, Sherlock. I'm so sorry. I thought you wanted this. But I'm wrong aren't I? I'm so sorry. I'm drunk. I didn't mean..." Sherlock cuts him off by pressing their lips back together. After a few tender kisses Sherlock draws back. "Please, John. Please tell me you...This," he motions between them. "This means something to me. This isn't just being drunk and having a go. I can't do this if you don't..." It's John's turn to interrupt. He presses his hard cock against Sherlock's and nibbles at his neck. Sherlock moans wantonly then flushes a deep red. He was not expecting that. "Sherlock, I have loved you since the night we met. I have wanted to be with you since that awkward conversation at Angelo's. And I will be here with you for as long as you'll have me, love. Never doubt that." Sherlock's lips find John's and he kisses with abandon. The kiss is triumphant and new and full of love. 

Later, John will go back to the house he shares with Mary. Later, he will sit at their kitchen table and wait for her to get home from book club. He will apologize and she will cry. John will explain that he has always loved Sherlock and he always will. Later, John will come home to 221B with a single suitcase and a promise. The suitcase will quickly be forgotten and John will snuggle into bed next to Sherlock. The detective and his blogger, together in Baker Street, the way it should be. John will drift off to sleep wrapped around his groggy genius with an ear-splitting grin, a nose full of curls, and soft kisses along his back. 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were wondering, Sherlock's song is One Call Away by Charlie Puth and John's song is When We Were Young by Adele. If you enjoyed this fic please let me know. If you hated this fic, also please let me know. Feedback is the lifeblood of the writer. Thanks!


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